A Power the Dark Lord Knows Not
by Shally-wa
Summary: And all over a picture... In which Hermione does some research, Harry goes along for the ride, and Dumbledore answers their questions. Mild H/Hr, past AD/GG and AD/OFC. Written as a gift for Bexis1, companion piece to his HP5E epic.


**Title:** A Power the Dark Lord Knows Not  
**Characters:** Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Albus Dumbledore  
**Pairings:** Background established relationship H/Hr, past AD/GG and AD/OFC  
**Rating:** T (to be very safe) for some implied sexuality and violence  
**Summary:** And all over a picture... In which Hermione does some research, Harry comes along for the ride, and Dumbledore answers their questions.  
**Notes:** Another tribute fic for Bexis1's _Harry Potter and the Fifth Element_, and posted with his permission. Set just after the scene in Dumbledore's private quarters from Chapter 55, "Lightspeed Times Itself." As this piece is mainly expository Dumbledore backstory, familiarity with HP5E should not be too necessary. Contains a light smattering of historical/literary references.  
**Disclaimer:** Not attempting to make any money off this - I own less than nothing, or near enough. Canon characters belong to JK Rowling, and Muriel belongs to Bexis1. Percival Dumbledore (Jr.), is however, mostly my own creation. Any direct quotes from "King's Cross" in DH are entirely accidental.

* * *

**A Power the Dark Lord Knows Not**

Dumbledore was the first to leave the room. Harry stayed behind, still coming to terms with the awesome power he had not quite realised until now that he had. _Lightspeed times itself_…

He turned, intending to grab Hermione's hand and leave. To his surprise, Hermione was not there anymore. After Vanishing the blackboard, she had gravitated back towards the Headmaster's desk and was examining one of the daguerreotypes. He went over to her, curious, only to see her let out a muffled squeak and drop the picture frame back onto the desk.

"What's wr-" he began, only to be cut off by the Headmaster himself.

"I trust you two are not too comfortable in there? I realise the quarters are quite nice, but I would hate to keep you from your other obligations." Harry could almost hear the wink in the old man's voice.

Hermione's voice shook as she answered. "N-no, Professor. We were just leaving."

Harry shot her a quizzical look as they passed back into the Headmaster's office. She made no reply other than a quick shake of the head and a whispered "Later, Harry" in his ear.

Dumbledore smiled at them as they let themselves out, but Harry was now too preoccupied with Hermione's strange behavior to really notice.

As soon as they had descended the staircase and exited the gargoyle, he turned to her. "What was that about back there, love? You had me worried."

She gave him a genuine smile. "It's nothing serious, Harry. I thought one of the pictures was familiar. I was just giving it a second look." She paused for a second, and her smile seemed to falter. "It's strange though… I don't understand…"

He wrapped his arm around her protectively. "What is it?" If it was something Hermione could not understand, he was not sure how he would know better, but talking about it probably would not do any harm.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Harry," she said tensely, "but the picture of the boy on Dumbledore's desk, well, I'm fairly certain it's Grindelwald. And I don't know why."

"WHAT?" Harry's voice rose unintentionally in surprise. Seeing the startled looks of several second years who had been passing by in the corridors, he lowered his voice and continued, "I mean, I can't understand why. Dumbledore defeated him in 1945 – why would he keep a picture of him? And you're sure?" He knew his last question was barely more than grasping at straws; Hermione was rarely wrong. What was more, she rarely voiced an opinion, especially not one so controversial, without being either almost absolutely certain, or very firm in her beliefs.

"Well, I'm not _completely_ sure," Hermione replied. "I'd have to check in the library first, for one thing…"

"Well, then we can go together." Harry said decisively. "We don't have any classes right now. And I'd like to see for myself."

Harry stared at the stack of tomes Hermione had pulled off the shelves and piled hastily atop the table in front of them. "_A Wizarding History of Empire-Building_? _Dark Magic in the Twentieth Century_? _Nurmengard: The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord Grindelwald_? Hermione, where do you find these things?"

"I did some extra research when I'd first learned about the subject a few years ago – Bathilda Bagshot's hopelessly vague on the subject, I don't know why… But _A History of Magic_ would still probably be a good place for you to start. Here." She shoved the book towards where he was seated while simultaneously opening up _Grindelwald: The Early Years_ for herself. "I believe the section on Grindelwald's empire begins on page 1347."

Following her instructions, Harry opened the book and was shocked by what he found. He poured over the listings of facts, horror growing within him. The man had run re-education camps for his political opponents! How could Dumbledore possibly justify the picture on his desk? Of course, that would only be true if the picture _were_ Grindelwald…

That last hope was dashed when Hermione straightened up. "Here, I found the picture I was looking for. Grindelwald as a young man." She pushed the stack aside to make room and placed the book on the table. They both leaned forward.

The boy – no, man – in the picture was clearly the same one that was on Dumbledore's desk, albeit slightly older. He had the same intense dark eyes, same shoulder length light-coloured hair, and-

"The symbol," Hermione whispered, gesturing to faint marks on the clasp of Grindelwald's cloak. Squinting at them, Harry recalled that while the picture in Dumbledore's quarters had been uncloaked, he had been wearing the same symbol on a pendant.

"So it's definitely him, then?" Harry asked. "Grindelwald."

"Yes." Hermione looked disappointed by the revelation, as though she too had been hoping to be proven wrong.

"So Dumbledore once knew Grindelwald…" Harry began.

"And – oh, Harry…" Hermione let out a sort of choked sob. "That wasn't even the worst part…" She turned to another book and began flipping through it, searching for a specific page. Slightly calmed, she read aloud "One of Grindelwald's earliest victims, and indeed one of the few British victims of what was mainly a Continental war, was the young wife of the one wizard who would later defeat him in a duel: Albus Dumbledore."

"Indeed," said a solemn voice from behind them, making both Harry and Hermione jump. "And it was all my fault…"

Sometime while they had been reading, Dumbledore had entered, and come up behind them. He seemed older and more tired at this moment than Harry thought he had ever seen him before.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione squeaked. "We… we didn't expect to see you here."

"Nor I you." the Headmaster replied, with barely a trace of his usual humour. After a cursory glance over Harry's shoulder towards a portrait of some former Hogwarts headmaster hanging on the wall behind them, he added, "Though the fuss in the library did feed my curiosity."

Harry got right to the point. "Professor, why do you have a picture of Grindelwald on your desk?" He could feel himself getting angry. Dumbledore had been open with him before, but now it seemed like the old man was going back to his typical secretive ways.

Hermione jumped in. "What Harry means, Professor, is that he's – we're both surprised that you'd keep a picture of him on your desk given, well, everything."

Ignoring the direct questions, at least temporarily, Dumbledore replied with one of his own. "I assume you figured this out, Miss Granger?" They both nodded. "Do you mind if I ask what sparked your interest in this topic?"

Hermione looked nervous, and puzzled by Dumbledore's reaction, but she answered, "Well, you see Professor, I was reading ahead in _A History of Magic_, back in third year… I was actually trying to find out whatever I could about Voldemort's first rise to power, and about Sirius, but I couldn't help but read what she'd written about Grindelwald. Ms. Bagshot was so vague and brief about the whole thing that I started reading more, to find out what she wasn't saying. That's how I learned about all this…"

To both Harry and Hermione's surprise, the Headmaster let out a soft chuckle. "I had always wondered when Bathilda's discomfort writing about the history of her great-nephew would backfire like this… Frankly, I am slightly surprised it took so long."

Harry and Hermione shared a glance. _Great-nephew?_ This time, Harry cut in. "Sir, do you mean that Bathilda Bagshot and Grindelwald were related?"

"_Are_ related, Mr. Potter. As both of them are still living, the past tense is unnecessary," said Dumbledore, seeming to temporarily regain some of his twinkle. He then turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, how much do know you of Gel-, I mean Grindelwald's youth?"

"Only that he was expelled from Durmstrang before completing his fifth year, though the reasons are debated. After that, he drops off the record entirely," she replied. "Pardon me, Professor, but where are you going with this?"

"Given the number of illegal and otherwise… illicit activities I know he was involved in there, I cannot say I find that surprising." Dumbledore paused before continuing. "During those years, it is frequently stated that he 'traveled.' I do not know how he spent a large part of those years, but during the first few months, he stayed with family in Godric's Hollow. Bathilda Bagshot, to be precise. It was through her that we met."

Dumbledore stopped speaking. Both Harry and Hermione were looking at him expectantly. "You want the full story, I suppose?

_You think this is a good idea?_ Harry Legilimenced to Hermione.

_It's the only way we'll ever understand. We might as well try,_ she Legilimenced back.

Slowly, they both nodded. Dumbledore sighed. "It is a long story… I will not deny it to you, but you must allow an old man his comforts. With a wave of his wand, he once more conjured up a chintz armchair, and settled into it. After a long pause, he began.

"Before you fully understand this story, I must tell you about my family. I assume you both know of my brother?" When they nodded, he continued, "I had a sister as well… younger than both of us. You are probably one of very few that know of this. She never attended Hogwarts…"

"A Squib?" interjected Hermione.

"No, not a Squib," Dumbledore replied, not unkindly. "She showed magical ability, the same as almost all Wizarding children do, and at a typical age. She was a normal young witch, up until around her seventh birthday. Even that was in some ways my fault. I was supposed to be watching her. Instead, I had curled up under a tree with a book I was reading. She was within my sight, but barely. She did some magic, I do not know exactly what. She was still too young to be able to control it in any predictable manner. I had let her wander out of my sight, and some Muggle boys saw her. I am not sure whether they were fascinated by her magic and upset when Ariana could not repeat it on command, or simply frightened of her. Whatever their motives, they attacked her. I do not know what they did, but it scarred my sister for life. After that day, she never could control her magic. She would try to keep it hidden inside her, and it would build up until the pressure was too great and it would burst out destructively."

"Excuse me, Professor." Harry could see silent tears running down Hermione's cheeks as she spoke. "Your sister… it's tragic. But does this relate to Grindelwald?"

"We will reach that point in time, Miss Granger. I assure you that these details are necessary. Anyway, my father… He was furious at what those boys did to her. He went out looking for them. He used the Cruciatus Curse on them. He was sent to Azkaban for it, where he died a few years later. He refused to give his reasons. Mother fled Mould-on-the-Wold with the remains of her once-happy family. We resettled in Godric's Hollow. One of our closest neighbors was Bathilda Bagshot. She was one of the few people who knew of my sister, though not the reasons for her condition. While Aberforth and I attended school, she remained at home to tend to Ariana. This arrangement lasted until my graduation from Hogwarts. Shortly before then, Ariana had had one of her outbursts. Mother was killed. It was my responsibility to return home and follow in my mother's footsteps. While I did so, I did not do so willingly. I had attained some degree of fame for my academic achievements at Hogwarts, and did not want to give up my bright future to care for my half-mad sister.

"This was around the same time that Gellert Grindelwald was expelled from Durmstrang. By the time I returned home, he was already living with his great-aunt in Godric's Hollow. Bathilda knew of what I had given up, and hoped that someone close to my age might be better able to console me. She could have no idea just what she started. We spent every waking moment together, Gellert and I. He dreamed of a new age in the Wizarding world. Breaking the Statute. Wizard rule over Muggles. And I supported him. To me, he spoke of safety, perhaps treatment, for my sister. The only way to prevent what happened to her from ever happening again. This lasted two months. Two months before the whole house of cards came crashing down. I had never seen Gellert's cruelty until that point. I can not deny that I knew of it – he had been expelled from Durmstrang, after all, however, the subject was avoided. But the summer was coming to an end. Aberforth, who had cared for Ariana during my neglect, would be going back to school in a few days, forcing my reluctant self to assume responsibility for her.

"As the day drew nearer, he reminded me of this fact with increasing frequency. Although he most likely intended this as a warning that I could not expect my planning with Gellert to last forever, I took it as an insult to my ability, and impatiently informed him that I would be more than ready for the task. These promises were easily made, and even more easily forgotten and broken. Not long after one of these brush-offs, Aberforth heard the two of us planning a tour of Europe, to begin our search. He burst in, accusing me of neglecting Ariana, of breaking the promise I could scarcely remember making. Likewise, I accused him of eavesdropping on things that did not involve him. The accusations and recriminations soon became a full-fledged argument. In a fury, Aberforth attacked Gellert.

"Gellert had always been quick to anger, and that pushed him over the edge. He pulled out his wand, and used the Cruciatus Curse on my brother. Meanwhile, I stood useless, not certain of who to defend. When the curse ended, Aberforth staggered to his feet, and, after a few seconds of heavy breathing, pulled out his wand, and began to duel Gellert. Meanwhile, Ariana had been roused by the raised voices, and had wandered into the room. I threw myself into the mix, shooting defensive spells in all directions, all the while begging Gellert not to take out his anger on my family. After seconds, minutes, hours – I had no clear sense of the time – of this dueling, several spells collided in midair. There was a bang, and when the smoke began to clear, my sister lay dead on the floor. Gellert fled before her body was even cool, leaving me and my brother to deal with the aftermath.

"Aberforth never forgave me for what happened. He blamed me for Ariana's death, but not nearly as much as I blamed myself. I wanted to forget it all… to pretend the summer had never happened. After a year of mourning, I married Muriel. She was a Muggleborn, and had been a year behind me at school. She knew nothing about my sister." At this point, the elderly man ducked his head, and seemed as though he was about to cry. "I did not love her."

"Professor?" Hermione asked, hesitantly rising as if to comfort him, but uncertain as to how. "What's wrong? What do you mean?"

He paused for a few seconds, composing himself. "Marrying her, it was a repudiation of those months. It gave me a new family, to replace what I had lost. And it refuted Gellert."

"You mean because she was a Muggleborn?" Harry asked.

"No… Gellert never orchestrated a campaign against Muggleborns. That idea was purely Voldemort's invention. While he believed in wizarding supremacy, Gellert never discriminated based on birth."

"Well, then what?" Harry could feel himself growing impatient with Dumbledore's hesitancy and dodging around the main point.

"I am getting there, Mr. Potter, do not worry," responded Dumbledore, though he still seemed nervous. "It was not Gellert's views that I rejected in marrying her. It was Gellert himself. I loved him."

"Do you mean to say that you're gay?" Hermione asked.

He seemed to relax at her friendly tone. "I suppose that is what the current term would be. Of course, there was no such simple term back when I was young. The closest thing to it was probably 'invert,' and even that was rarely spoken of. It was a love that dared not speak its name."

"I can imagine!" Hermione jumped in, and for a few moments, the original purpose of the conversation was lost in a flurry of discussion over historical views of homosexuality. Harry let the conversation wash over him, marveling again at the breadth of Hermione's knowledge. He himself knew very little about gays, aside from disparaging remarks about "pansies and poofters," mostly made by Uncle Vernon and Dudley.

He tuned back into the discussion just in time to hear "…and that's just for Muggles! I imagine it would have been much harder for you; the Wizarding world is so conservative in general…"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "It definitely was."

Harry cut in, trying lead the others back to the story. "I believe you had just gotten to the point where you had married your wife, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Ah, yes, the explanation I had promised," the older man said. "As I said, I married Muriel in an attempt to forget everything that had happened in those two months. I was somewhat happy, and I did love her as much as I could. Newly unburdened by my family, I began to return to my past prominence. News of me slowly began to reach the Continent, along with news of my wife.

"Eventually this news reached Gellert. He was quick to anger, as I have already explained. As well, he was quite jealous. During the two months that summer, he became jealous of what was merely a simple friendship with Elphias. You can probably imagine the rage he flew into when he learned about my wife." Harry felt Hermione shiver almost imperceptibly beside him at that statement.

"While she was in France, visiting family, she was abducted by Grindelwald sympathisers. They delivered her up to him, and he executed her personally shortly thereafter. There was some official reason given by his regime, long forgotten by now. But I know the true reason he killed her was because she was my wife. I killed her by marrying her, and to what end?" He broke off, choking back a soft sob. Harry reached over and patted his arm awkwardly, in an attempt to offer what support he could. After a few minutes pause, he had recovered enough to continue with the story.

"Fortunately, my son had been home with me in England, and was not harmed. I am not sure whether Gellert would have sought to harm my son if he had the chance, in any case."

Hesitantly, as though afraid that an interruption would end the conversation there, Hermione asked "What… what was your son's name, Professor?"

"Percival, after my father. In all honesty, I had hoped for a daughter, to name in memory of Ariana. He hated Grindelwald for what had happened to his mother, and he hated me for not fighting back. Over my protestations, he joined one of the volunteer brigades going to the Continent to fight Grindelwald's regime as soon as he was of age. There was, of course, no organized response to Gellert's empire by the Ministry; they were more than content with the fact that he was avoiding Britain. I have never been sure whether Ministry support would have saved Percival and his doomed companions, or whether it would have simply led to more deaths. What probably led to the most deaths of all was once again my fault. I delayed facing Gellert for far too long. Word of his atrocities had already reached Britain several years before. Yet I still hesitated.

"What was it? Did I fear his powers? Was I afraid I would be unable to fight him? Was I attempting to pretend that this was not the result of our dreams? Whatever the reason, I did not pursue him when I should have."

Hastily, Harry said "You did though, didn't you, Headmaster? You faced him. And you won."

"Indeed, I did," Dumbledore responded. "Year later, I could wait no longer, and I traveled to Nurmengard. Whatever my fears had been before, they were invalidated. If anything, he was the one who could not bear to face me."

"What do you mean, sir?" Hermione asked.

"The battle was by no means easy. We were well matched magically, just as we had been in our youth. And I while I was still young by Wizarding standards, I was not as young as I had once been. There was a point when he could have finished me, several hours in. But when he saw me stumble, he faltered. Perhaps he could not bring himself to finish me off. And as a result of his unwillingness to fight, I was victorious."

"I know how that feels," Harry mused, thinking of his own duel with Hermione. "Sir… do you mean to say that you won because Grindelwald loved you too much to fight you?" Harry was still confused, albeit less so.

"Whether it could still be called love is anyone's call, of course," said Dumbledore. "But his residual feelings for me most definitely saved my life, along with many others. And mine for him saved his. The International Confederation of Wizards had wanted to execute him. It was only my impassioned arguments for mercy that convinced them to imprison him for life in Nurmengard instead."

"That's beautiful…" Hermione murmured softly. "But I'm still not sure, Professor, why you have a picture of him on your desk."

"The simplest explanation would be that I keep that picture there for the same reason I keep Muriel's. But it is more than that. I keep it there to remind me of all that can come of love, both good and bad. Love can lead us to ignore that which matters most, but it is also at the root of all mercy. That is the one thing Voldemort never has known and never will know."

Harry cut in. "And that is why he must never succeed."

"I admire your sentiment, Harry," replied Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye. "But it is more than that. It is why Voldemort _can_ never succeed. And that is why I have hope for you, and for all of our futures."


End file.
